


Death By Misadventure

by Roz1013



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Action/Adventure, F/M, Gen, Mystery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-07
Updated: 2012-05-07
Packaged: 2017-11-04 23:33:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 21,651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/399420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Roz1013/pseuds/Roz1013
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A bomb goes off in central London. Was it bumbling terrorists or something more sinister?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Death By Misadventure

**Author's Note:**

> Of course I don't own these characters or their modern day interpretation. Please don't sue me.

Death by Misadventure  
1/14

There comes a time in every person’s life when they come face to face with death. It can come with a near-miss in your car, or a falling piece of scaffolding or even something as small as a fishbone. After you’ve had these near misses there is this feeling of being alive that no amount of adrenaline-rushing sport can compare with. Because this time, death came to you unasked and you walked away. 

I can still hear the sirens in my mind. I know I am in my bed, that the ambulances have left hours ago. I slowly run my hair across my scalp and feel where the glass from the display window had peppered my hair, leaving tiny scabs behind. My palms hurt from when I hit the road, hands first to protect my face. There is still a faint ringing in my ears from the blast. The cheap cotton sheets feel like plastic to my sensitive skin and I finally make peace with the fact that I won’t be sleeping for a good while yet. 

A click, a whirr and my ancient laptop boots up. The BBC website has a short story on the events, and I eagerly slurp up any additional news. 

Police investigate cause of appliance shop explosion  
London – Scotland Yard still doesn’t have any firm leads on why a small appliance shop on Becher Street exploded this afternoon. The blast, which could be felt from more than a mile away, ripped through the shop and two neighbouring buildings, killing 5 and injuring 1 person. Inspector Lestrade from Scotland Yard has declined to comment on why the explosion occurred but nearby residents had recently complained about sharp chemical smells coming from the area. No terrorist groups have taken credit for the explosion. 

That is the bare facts. I was there; I was the one injured person. Rachel Templeton survived when five other people hadn’t. 

I go to the mirror to peer at the face of someone who has faced death. It doesn’t seem extraordinary; washed out blond hair scraped into a ponytail, short, non-descript. A perfectly ordinary person. Curves in the right places, chipped manicure, nothing that would make me stand out ever. 

What had made me worthy of survival? I kept on peering into the looking glass, hoping for answers. Sleep stays away for the rest of the night. 

Chapter 1

“You know Sherlock, if you hadn’t decided to try and boil the kettle without any water in it, we would’ve been able to make tea at home and not pay almost 2 pounds for some watery Earl Grey” John hands Sherlock a small paper cup. His nose wrinkles in disgust when he peers into the murky depths. 

“Well I need to know what would be the least amount of water needed to get a kettle to boil. The answer was simple.”

“You couldn’t read the manual for that?”

“Kettles come with manuals? Add water, plug in, and enjoy? That would be a riveting piece of literature, no doubt.”

It was Monday morning and the whole of London was on its way to work. Sherlock stood outside the small patiserrie, glancing random facts from strangers while John wrestled with accountants, PR-agents and other office drones for their morning fix of tannin. It was just around the corner from Baker street and John had to resist every urge to get a croissant with the tea. Until a new case came along, money would be tight. 

“We can go to Ashton’s a pick up a new one for a fiver or something, I’m sure”

“We can’t”

“Is this about money? I’m sure I have a fiver in my coat” Sherlock grunts and starts rooting about his pockets. Triumphantly he slaps a 10 pound note in John’s hands. 

“Where did that come from?”

“Mycroft. Don’t ask.”

“We still can’t go to Ashton’s, it blew up last week”

John treasures each moment Sherlock looks surprised. 

“God, how I wish I can take a photo of your face right now.”

“Blew up? When? How could I not…”

“You were in Wincanton, looking for Mrs Norris’ missing painting.”

“Yes, that was rather challenging, I agree. Not often that I have to go digging through an actual rubbish dump. Do they know why Ashton’s blew up?”

“The coroner ruled it as death by misadventure, seems that the culprits blew themselves up trying to make their own methamphetamines. Pity they had to take the upstairs neighbours with them.”

“No survivors?”

“Only one, girl who walked past the shop when it exploded.”

“Do you think she has a kettle?”

 

“Would you like something to drink before we start?”

Rachel glances up at the police officer. She’d rushed over straight from work to the police station, wanting to get the whole thing over with. It was Friday night and she had a hot date with her telly – Pride and Prejudice was waiting and there was nothing like Colin Firth in a wet shirt to cheer her up. She still didn’t know why they wanted a second statement from her; she’d told them everything she remembered. The interview room didn’t look anything like what she’d seen on the telly; it was warmer and friendlier than she thought. There was even a motivational poster on the wall, telling her that something about challenges being opportunities in disguise. 

“Ms Templeton?”

Rachel starts, from the look on the officer’s face she realizes that she’s been staring into space for a while.

“Nothing for me, thank you. I drink too much coffee at work.”

The officer nods at sits down across from her. Rachel notices the lavender stains underneath the officer’s eyes and the ink stains on her fingers. Clearly she isn’t the only one having a rough day.

“Ms Templeton, do you know why we called you back in today?”

“I was told you have to retake my statement.” 

“It is a bit more complicated than that, I’m afraid. Do you recognize any of these men?”

The officer slides two photographs over to her. They are full colour, glossy and were taken in a morgue. It takes Rachel a few minutes to realize who she is looking at. It feels like she’s been punched in the gut and the officer says nothing as Rachel fights to remember how to breathe. 

“The man on the left, that is? Was? My brother. Paul.”

“And the other man?”

Rachel glances over to the other photo. She is still in shock about Paul, her baby brother Paul, with his downy blond hair and goatee beard that refused to fill out. His face all bloated and covered in blood and is surprised to see the tail end of a tattoo on his chest. 

“I don’t know who he is.”

“Ms Templeton, I am sorry for your loss. Your brother, Paul and his accomplice Trevor Bledlow were found in the back of the appliance shop that exploded. It would appear that they were manufacturing methamphetamines, used a wrong dose of ammonia and their whole lab blew up. “

“I lost contact with Paul after our parents died. I hadn’t seen him in over four years. I never realized…”

“Ms Templeton, I know this is a shock to you. We would like you to come down to the morgue and identify your brother.”

Rachel slowly nods. “Are you sure about the drugs? Paul, he wouldn’t, I mean I know I haven’t stayed in touch with him…”

“Family members are usually the last to find out. Are you able to come down with us now?”

“Yes, yes of course…”

“Are you sure that police said that Ashton’s was blown up by incompetent drug manufacturers?”

Sherlock picks up his violin and starts plinking away at random notes, knowing that it would annoy John. 

“Yep.” John doesn’t glance at Sherlock, engrossed at the statistics of the website. “Did you know there are people from China reading my blog?”

“Why would they manufacturer drugs in a high occupancy area, in the back of an appliance shop? They would’ve known people would complain about the smell and that it was too risky.”

“Why do drug dealers to anything Sherlock? Who knows? Greed? Maybe their brains had rotted from their own products?” 

“I’m going for a walk. “ Sherlock pulls his coat on. “Something about this doesn’t make sense. What was the name of the woman who survived the blast?”

“I don’t see how that is relevant. Sherlock, there is no mystery there. It’s an open and shut case, incompetent people playing with dangerous chemicals go boom. “ 

“I’m not so sure. Are you coming along?” Sherlock cocks his head expectantly. “I can’t possibly go without my favourite blogger.”

Ten minutes later Sherlock stared at the burnt out remains of Ashton’s Appliance Store. The front façade had some damage to it, and the neighbouring buildings look scorched but it seemed the explosion was much smaller than what the press had reported. Sherlock glances at the blue and white Police tape and deftly steps underneath it. A soft rain had started and he pulls his coat up around his neck. He hates the feeling of rain on his neck. John mutters to himself about tea and usefulness of umbrellas as Sherlock paces around the wreckage. Ignoring the soot caking around his ankles he crouches down and slowly runs his finger over a piece of exposed cement. 

“John, call Lestrade. There wasn’t a meth lab in this building, it was a bomb factory.” 

Death by Misadventure  
2/14

Rachel was on her way home, and for some reason she had to return to the scene of the crime. Her head still spun with the grief of finding out her brother was making drugs and had somehow managed to blow himself up. It didn’t seem right, but nothing had seemed right since the night of the car accident. Rachel gave herself a mental shake. The past was the past, she had to deal with the now. 

She was surprised to see lights flashing at the bomb site, and even more surprised to see a bunch of men in white decontamination suits scramble over the wreckage. Like so many nosy neighbours she waited at the end of the cordon and peered around the police cars to get a better look.

“Aren’t you Rachel Templeton?”

Rachel blinked in shock at the handsome man in front of her. Dusty blonde hair, jumper, jeans. She frantically tried to recall if she knew him, he must’ve seen her distress because he jumped in.

“My name is John Watson, and we haven’t met before. I work with Inspector Lestrade and I was one of the doctors on the scene after the bomb blast. I live right around the corner. How’s your head?”

“It’s fine, thank you. My ears still ring now and then but I’ve been told its normal.”

“Well if it persists, you’ll have to have it checked out. I hope your ears don’t have any permanent damage.”

“Thanks. Why is the police back, do you know?”

“Oh, they found some new evidence around the back of the building. What are you doing here?”

“I just wanted to swing by. Apparently my brother…” Rachel’s voice cracks “ was one of the people who made the erm… “

“Responsible for the explosion?”

“Yes. I just can’t make peace with the fact that he was involved with this sort of thing. Drugs had destroyed our family, and he was someone to stay far away from trouble. He was a student at King’s College, he was studying history…” Rachel bites her lip to stop her from crying. 

“I’m sorry for your loss.” John looks around helplessly, not knowing what to do with a weeping female. A tissue is fished out of a pocket and Rachel noisily blows her nose. 

“I’m sorry, I’m not a usually a waterpot. It’s just been a bit much to take in.”

“Look, it’s quite alright. Is there anything I can do? Any way I can help?” 

“I don’t know. I just wish I knew why Paul was involved with this sort of thing.”

Just then a shout rang out from the men in the white suits, all of them scrambling over the rubble 

“Everybody down!”

Rachel barely had time to process what they said when a shockwave knocked her down for the second time in a week. Bits of brick and plaster rained on her but it was only when she opened her eyes that she realised that John had pushed her down onto the ground and was covering her with his body. His arms were wrapped around her shoulders and she was arrested by the sight of his blue eyes anxiously peering at her face. 

“You ok?”

She nodded and said a little too loudly “I’m fine”

“Don’t worry; the ringing is probably a bit louder now, yeah?”  
Rachel nodded.

“It’ll go away in time, but when you stop hearing anything at all, let me know.”

John helped her up and was looking around and Rachel was surprised by a tall dark haired man who strolled across to them. Not a spec of dust on his coat, confidence in his step and for some reason Rachel felt like a bug under a microscope when he turned his gaze on her. 

“Seems like they found a hidden one this time.”

“Another bomb? Shit, Sherlock, how many of the damn things are there?” 

“Bomb? What bomb?” Rachel was confused. 

“I’m sorry Miss… ?” Sherlock raised his eyebrows.

“Templeton, Rachel Templeton. She was lady who walked away from last week’s explosion.”

“Any reason why you came past again Miss Templeton?”

“I… I… my brother. He also died in the explosion. I only found out today. I… “ Rachel had to bite back the tears again. A handkerchief appeared before she could dig around for another tissue and she looked at the tall man that John had called Sherlock with suspicion.

“It’s clean, I promise. Was your brother one of the people in the apartment above?” Sherlock looked around absently, peering at the police officers frantically shooing away public and media from the police cordon. 

“No, he… they say that he… I don’t believe it… but they say he was one of the people making the drugs.” Tears silently rolled down her check and Rachel was surprised when she felt a sting on one cheek. She dabbed the hanky on her face and was surprised when she saw dried blood. 

“It’s just a shallow cut, not at all like last time.” John assured her. 

“Last time? “

“I was the nearest doctor, first person on the scene after the previous blast to provide medical care. We can talk about it later Sherlock.” John shot Sherlock a death glare. 

“Why don’t you believe your brother was one of the manufacturers?”

“I… “ Rachel looked around her in shock. Everything was crumbling down around her, chaos reigned and she realised too late that the last thing she ate was a piece of toast more than 10 hours ago. She did the only thing she didn’t want to. She fainted. 

“Rachel, can you hear me?” John tapped her lightly on wrist and watched as colour returned to her face. He mentally kicked himself for not realising that she would probably collapse with everything that had happened to her, but at least he had caught her before her head hit ground. The last thing she needed was concussion. 

“Rachel, we need to get you up and take you somewhere else. The bomb squad has decided that they need go over the place a bit more carefully. Can I take you home?” John used her momentary confusion to take her pulse. A bit weak, but he was sure it would come back strong.

“Home? I… I live more than an hour away. “ 

“Then we’ll simply let you rest at our place, won’t we John?” Sherlock neatly grabbed her arm and with the gentlest of pressures starting guided her down the street. Rachel glanced around and wondered if she should scream, wondered if she was being kidnapped, wondered what would happen to her now. Before they exited the police cordon completely a smart looking man with tired eyes approached them. 

“Oh God, what are you two doing here?” 

“Evening, Lestrade. Didn’t Anderson tell you that John made the call about the bombs?”

“No, he just said we got an anonymous tip. I should’ve known you two would be involved. Who’s this you’re escorting from the scene?”

“Rachel Templeton. She’s had a bit of a shock”.

“Brother of Paul? I’m sorry for your loss. Did you get to speak with Quin at the station?” 

Rachel dumbly nodded. Her legs still felt weak and she didn’t trust her voice just yet. 

“I’m sorry that we can’t stay Detective Inspector, but as you can see Rachel has had a trying day and John was just about to feed her some sweet tea, weren’t you John?” 

“Oh yes, absolutely. Best thing to do after a shock like this.”

Lestrade looked at them dubiously, until he sighed and rubbed his neck. He desperately wanted some painkillers. 

“Ms Templeton, please don’t leave town for the next few days. One of my officers will be in contact with you to talk some more about your brother.” Lestrade nodded once to them and then strode off, shouting something at a man in a white biohazard suit. Rachel shuddered at the thought of having to enter the building again and was strangely comforted by being held up by the two men on either side of her. 

The walk to their flat in Baker Street proved to be uneventful. Most of the foot traffic seemed to be going in the direction of the blast, not away, proving that people’s curiosity outweighs their common sense. When they finally stepped into the small apartment Rachel gratefully sank into a small leather chair. 

It was soft and comfortable and smelled of home. Rachel closed her eyes for just a second to appreciate the feeling and when she reopened them, John was in front of her again, feeling her wrist. 

“You must’ve popped off for a second there. I brought you some tea. I guessed you would like it with milk and sugar.” 

Rachel grimaced. It had been years since she’s had any sugar but it seemed like a good idea. The tea burned on its way down, making her eyes water in sympathy. John stepped away after he saw her taking the first sip and headed back to the kitchen. 

“Ms Templeton.”

Rachel looked around until she saw Sherlock sprawled across his sofa. How such a tall man could fit on such a couch made her mind boggle. She hoped he was comfortable. 

“Why do you think your brother wasn’t involved manufacturing drugs?”

“Is there a reason for you to be interested in this?” She hit back. The situation was spiralling more and more out of control and the last thing she wanted was some strangers prying into her family business. 

John sat in the chair opposite her with another cup of tea. She would bet his didn’t have any sugar. 

“Ms Templeton, Rachel, Sherlock and I often assist the police in their cases. The chances are very good that we will be called in to help with this case. The more you can tell us now, the more it could help us later on. People do tend to forget traumatic events and we want a complete a picture as possible.”

“I have to disagree with you there” Rachel whispered. “I wish I could forget. I pray I can forget.”

“That you can forget what?” Sherlock glanced at her intently. “Obviously you aren’t talking about tonight or what happened to you last week.”

“How do you know?”

John sighed and sat back and hoped that this wouldn’t distress Rachel anymore than it had to. 

“Your skin is tired and there are dark blue circles under your eyes, showing that you haven’t slept properly for a long time. Your nails are bitten down to the quick, which might be habit but I am guessing is an outlet for your anxieties. You have a locket with a black and white photo of a couple, I am guessing to be your parents, who I am pretty sure are dead. Your favour you left leg slightly which makes me think that you were in some sort of accident but never seeked professional help with rehabilitation and you have scars on your wrists consistent with someone who attempted suicide. “

Rachel felt all blood leave her face. “How did you …” she glanced down and angrily pulled her jumper sleeves down to cover her arms. “that has noting to do with what happened to Paul. That was a long, long time ago.”

“Why wouldn’t Paul be involved in the manufacture of methamphetamines?” 

“Because he wouldn’t. He knew what the effects were, he knew how it destroyed lives. It destroyed our family.” 

John looked at Sherlock, pleading with his eyes to ease off. He could read the signs and knew that Rachel was at the end of her rope.

“My father… found me after I cut myself. I was half dead and my parents didn’t want to wait for an ambulance. They loaded me in their car and drove me to hospital and on the way there, a kid hopped up on ice skipped a traffic light and ploughed into our car. My parents died on impact. I was the lucky one.”

Rachel took another sip of the tea. The temperature was more bearable now, and she greedily drank half the mug before looking up at John. She waiting to see the disgust in his eyes, the disgust she felt for herself every day. There was only pity and concern and that made it worst. 

“Did you brother owe anyone any money? Was he involved in any radical groups? Had a grudge against any one?”

“I… am not sure about his finances. After the accident we lost touch and he hadn’t approached me for money. As for the rest, he was a pretty mild person, I would’ve been surprised if he was even interested in politics.”

“But he studied history?”

“Political Islam. He wanted to work in Intelligence, and it seemed to be an area where knowledge was needed. “

“Smart boy.”

Rachel nodded. “He was smart, very much so. My father idolised him, and ensured that he had the best of everything. He… Paul didn’t take the death of his number one fan very well. I think if he could’ve found a way to track down every person involved in some way in the drugs business he would’ve. What he would’ve done then, I have no idea. “

It was quiet then, with only the sound of a faraway ambulance making its way across London. Gradually other city sounds filtered through, cars, taxis, people, dogs. Normal life. Something that Rachel knew she didn’t have, couldn’t have. 

“I need to go home, thank you for the cup of tea.” She smiled weakly at John, grimaced at Sherlock and moved to get her coat. “Where is the nearest tube station?”

“You’re catching the tube at 2am? Are you serious?” John looked at her with wide eyes

“I don’t have enough on me for a cab fare and that is the best way home, so yes” she snapped. 

“Oh for goodness sake, just take the couch. You’ve just had a massive shock and fainted twice in the last couple of hours. It is my medical opinion that you should stay right where you are for at least another 12 hours. I’ll get you a blanket”. 

Rachel wanted to argue, but the thought of leaving the apartment, trudging through the city and dealing with the denizens of the night made her even more tired. 

“I wouldn’t argue with him if I were you” Sherlock piped in. “He get’s annoyed if he can’t play knight in shining armour.”

That’s how Rachel ended up spending the night in Baker Street and how she managed to survive the night. Because the next morning, she was greeted with the news her house had been blown up. 

Death by Misadventure  
3/14

Rachel was having a dream. She knew she was having a dream because she could feel the spring of a couch poking into her back and she didn’t feel stressed and her leg didn’t hurt. The dream didn’t make sense, it was warm and red and she felt tingly in places where she hadn’t felt tingly since the accident and there was a mouth travelling up her legs and …

The sound of a mug of tea being placed on the coffee table next to her head was a reminder to not groan out load from the imagined pleasure. Rachel flexed her toes and scrunched her eyes before realising that John was looking at her with concern. 

“Are you in pain? You look a bit flushed this morning.”

Rachel wondered if she could talk her way out of her embarrassment and decided that it was better to just ignore the whole situation. 

“No, no pain. Just thinking about yesterday.” Not strictly a lie but she wasn’t going to admit that she had been thinking about his lips trailing up her legs not thirty seconds ago. 

“You did have a pretty rough day. Good thing it’s Saturday, eh?” 

“Saturday? I feel like I’ve lost a whole day somewhere. “

“That’s a normal feeling after a concussion. I only realised much too late last night that you probably hit your head quite hard with that blast. Sorry.”

John looked properly sheepish and Rachel could feel herself feeling all warm and tingly when Sherlock burst into the room, drank her tea (her tea!), shouted at John to get dressed and get a cab all in one breath. 

He turned to her with his piercing eyes and all she could think of was that she did not want to be on the receiving end of his bad moods. 

“You! What have you been keeping from us? I know there is something. Did your brother ask you to keep something for him?”

Rachel shook her head numbly. 

“It doesn’t make sense. Why else would someone blow your house up?”

“My, my house? Blown up? When?” she squeaked.

“About an hour ago. Police are calling it a gas leak. I had Lestrade yammering down my ear about sending you to your death this morning. He was quite relieved that you spent the night. Now, did you brother give you anything for safekeeping? “

Rachel looked at him dumbfounded. This, all of this was simply too much. She could close and open her mouth like a guppy but no sounds came out. 

“Shock, damn. John!”

Sherlock impatiently helped Rachel into her coat. She glanced at her reflection on her way out and was dismayed at her matted hair and it felt like she had a carpet growing on her teeth. The cut on her cheek had scabbed over nicely, and she knew that only five minutes in a shower would make her a whole new person. But she couldn’t have a shower because her house had just blown up. Fuck. 

Rachel could feel her knees start buckling and could hear John murmuring in her ear as he held her up. Somehow he and Sherlock got her in the taxi and she wasn’t surprised when Sherlock rattled off her address in Harringay. The world seemed to flash by and Rachel could feel herself being pulled down by gravity. 

“Stop here, please and wait for 5 minutes.”

Rachel looked up with surprise. They had stopped at petrol station not that far from her house, and she was wondering why John had jumped out of the car. He returned with three steaming mugs of tea, and various chocolates and crisps stuffed into his jacket pocket. He handed her the tea, loaded with sugar of course, and then fanned out three chocolates in front of her. 

“Take one, but I would really recommend the Yorkie. It has the highest calorific value and to be honest, I think you need the sugar.”

The taxi pulled away and Rachel felt the tea sloshing in her cup but she grabbed the chocolate gratefully and tore into the packet with abandon. Sherlock, she noticed, was a Bounty fan and John tucked the Crunchie bar back into his pocket. Tea and chocolate disposed of, John wordlessly held out a piece of gum. Was there anything the man didn’t think of? 

They pulled up to her house and the ever persistent rain was soaking whatever of her possessions wasn’t smoldering. The fire brigade was battling the last of the flames, and Rachel was grateful to see that the damage hadn’t hurt anyone else in her street. She owned the last house in her row, or rather she now owned a few walls that was attached to the new last house in the row. 

Out of habit she went to fish her keys out of her handbag but a quick glance at the remains of her door reminded her that it wasn’t necessary. The blaze had rapidly spread through her house, incinerating everything in its path. The stairs to the second floor was nothing but charcoal and she could see bits where the floorboards had burnt through. She sat down on the kerb across the road and just stared. 

 

“Is there anyone that I should call? Boyfriend, family member, friend?” 

John sat down next to Rachel, fighting the urge to put an arm around her. She looked so lost and small. He couldn’t explain why he felt like pulling her close, wanting to erase the hurt and worry from her face.

Rachel shook her head. “I… my last family member left was Paul. I’ve been single for long enough to not call my ex and my friends picked his side when we broke up. The house was ours; it was the only thing which he didn’t take. It had seemed like a victory at the time. I wonder if his name is still on the insurance?”

Laughter bubbled out her, inappropriate and unstoppable. Shock, it was shock. She knew it was. 

Sherlock strolled over with a fire fighter next to him, looking grim.  
“Davidson here says that it is probably too dangerous to enter the house just yet, but if there is anything specific you want them to look for, maybe something that someone could have sent to you “Sherlock wiggled his eyebrows “they can make a quick pass through the house.

“As long as it is on the ground floor, mind. It’s not safe to go upstairs just yet. The HSO will jump down me throat if we tried that.” Davidson had a pleasant accent, Rachel realised. It reminded her of her dad.

“Rachel?” Sherlock looked at her again, obviously trying to prompt her memory. 

“I haven’t received any parcels lately, especially not from Paul. I suppose the only thing I would want is the documents from my safe. It’s in the kitchen, near the pantry. It looks like a biscuit tin.

“A cookie jar safe?”

“It was a joke present I got from Paul for Christmas a few years ago. I was giving up sugar and Paul thought if I kept my chocolates and biscuits in a safe, I would be less likely to eat them. 

“Did it work?”

“It helped that he came over at random times and changed the keycode. It became a game to crack the safe. ” She grinned when she thought of all the hours of frustration and then her face fell when she remembered Paul was dead. 

“Right, you heard the lady. Think you can get the safe?”

“I don’t know Mr Holmes. I’ll have to see how safe that area is. The fire did start in the kitchen, we know that much. “

Twenty minutes later Rachel was totally soaked and could feel her lips turning blue. The rain had started coming down properly again and she could see the fire team rolling up their hoses. The fire had been extinguished and a man from the gas company had just pulled up. A fire fighter pointed her out to the man and John, life saver John, took his details and promised that she would call him the second she was out of shock. 

“Thank you, I don’t think I could’ve dealt with him just yet.”

“He said that you could stay in a hotel and to just forward through your expenses to him for reimbursement. They’ll put you up until their investigation into the explosion is complete.”

“That… sounds unlike my gas company.”

“I may have mentioned something about negligence, medical expenses and a lawsuit. It seemed to bring out his more generous nature.” John grinned at her, pleased to see some of her worry lines disappear. 

“Is this it?” Sherlock handed her a battered and sooty ANZAC biscuit tin and Rachel nodded. A quick press around the sides and lid popped off, showing the three of them the real safe. It had a number pad, a red and green LED and was about the size of a brick. Rachel carefully typed in a code and was surprised when the red light came on. 

“The code has been changed. Paul must’ve… “

“Look, do we need to do this in the rain? I’m cold, I’m wet and I hate it when rain goes down my neck.” Sherlock grumbled. He hated being outside London proper, he hated small towns and he was starting to develop a real hatred for people who stayed in shock.

Rachel put the lid back on the biscuit tin and absently traced the relief of a soldier on the lid. “I’ll buy you a pint at the pub Mr Holmes, if you can help me get this safe open.”

 

The Salisbury was the oldest pub in Harringay and something of a landmark after being listed as a top ten heritage pub. Rachel had always liked the red brick of the pub and that there was a constant murmur of people coming in and out of the building. 

John had gone to get them a few pints while Sherlock and Rachel settled into one of the booths. It was cosy and private and, most important of all, dry. Rachel gratefully peeled her damp coat off and watched as it dripped on the carpet. Probably the first time it had been cleaned since the pub’s restoration. 

Sherlock had taken the safe out of its tin and was feeling all around the edges for something.

“If you are looking for the code reset button, Paul removed it. Said there was no point in him changing the code and me having an escape key.” 

Slight frown from Sherlock, and he started stroking the keys of the keypad. 

“This is the standard four number key model, yes?” 

“It used to be, Paul reprogrammed it to take anything up to 8 numbers, and they could repeat. You can only reprogram it once you’ve opened it. “

John placed the beers in front of them. “There are literally thousands of combinations then, how on earth did you even crack it the first time?”

Rachel laughed at John’s look.

“Paul didn’t want to make it impossible. He turned it into a game. It’s kind of like those sequence games? You press a number and the green light comes on. For instance, if the number is 9453 if I press 9, the light is green. If I press 98 the light goes from green to red, because the last number is wrong. It’s not really that difficult but you have to be patient. And if you are trying to get to the chocolates hidden inside, you usually give up before then.”

With the puzzle explained, Sherlock started pushing buttons at random. Rachel watched him for a few minutes until she realised that he was going to try and solve the puzzle right there and then. She didn’t have the heart to tell him that last time it took her a good three days to figure out the 8 digit code. 

Her head had become inexplicably heavy and she just wanted to crawl into bed. Thinking of bed made her think of her house and she realised that she would have to get accommodation and soon. She’d also have to get clothes, as she only had what she had on her back. John absently started patting her on the back, and she didn’t know why it was reassuring. 

A small growl from Sherlock was the only noise from the trio for ten minutes, until Rachel’s mobile rang. It was a blocked number and out of principle she refused to answer it. When the phone ticked over to voicemail Rachel stood up to get the next round. The phone rang again while she was away and Sherlock itched to answer the phone. Couldn’t she have picked a better ringtone than ‘Staying Alive’?

Four missed calls later and Sherlock was ready to throw the phone out of the window. Rachel carefully brought over the pints, glanced at her phone and put it on silent. The phone vibrated noisily on the table until she picked it up and dumped it in her handbag. 

Rachel left Sherlock and John at the pub and got herself a room at a local bed and breakfast. The hostess washed and dried her clothes while she showered and ate and Rachel managed to get to the High Street before the shops closed 

Two hundred pounds later, Rachel was kitted out with enough clothes for the next week. She had to dip into her savings but the promise of being reimbursed by the gas company had made it easier to spend the money. Her phone vibrated again but it wasn’t a call, it was a message.

From: +44 345 224 5247  
I want what is mine bitch. Where is it? 17:08

To: +44 345 224 5247  
I have no idea what you are talking about. Who is this? 17:10

From: +44 345 224 5247  
Don’t play coy, it didn’t work for Paul and it won’t work for you. I’ll be in contact tomorrow. Answer your goddamn phone before this gets nasty 17:11

Death by Misadventure  
4/14

“Hello?”

10 seconds after the text message the phone had rung. Blocked number again and Rachel felt cold all over.

“I’m glad to hear that you can follow instructions. So unlike your brother.”  
The voice on the other end of the phone was smooth, silky. It sounded like a young man whose voice hadn’t broken yet. 

“What do you want?”

“So predictable. What do you want. Why are you doing this to me. Please stop. So boring. Why can’t people think of anything better to say?”

Rachel stayed silent. There was nothing she could think to say. 

“So, Paul’s sister, have you found it yet? Your brother definitely didn’t have it on him when I saw him last and I am sure he hadn’t hidden it is his usual places.”

“I hadn’t seen Paul for four years. I would’ve noticed if he left something for me.”

“Oh, I went through your house before the fire. So tragic, gas explosion like that, such a pity it destroyed everything. Unfortunately what I was looking for wasn’t there. I knew he took it to your house, so it can only mean that you’ve hidden it. Do you have it with you now?”

“I have no idea what you are talking about. Paul hadn’t left me anything, given me anything or even let me know that something was going on. I…”

“Oh Rachel, Rachel, Rachel. How you disappoint me. There is no use in trying to protect your brother now, he is already dead. And more people will die the more you refuse to play along. If you don’t give me what your brother took from me in 24 hours, I will make you and everyone around you pay until I have it back. 

I will call you, tomorrow, with details of where you should drop it off. Beware Rachel, I am not a man you want to displease. Ta ta, and sweet dreams.”

Rachel sat down on the bed, phone forgotten on her side. Whatever Paul had hidden, had to be in the safe. The same safe that was currently more than an hour away in the hands of a consulting detective and his doctor friends. Rachel dug John’s card out of her handbag and with shaky fingers dialled his number. 

Six rings and then voicemail. She tried again, but just kept on going through to his voicemail. Finally she just left a generic message asking John to call her back. The blissful sleep that had been anticipating was starting to look less and less likely. Frustrated, she put her coat back on and headed to the train station. She had to go to Baker Street and get the safe back. 

 

“Remind me again why we are taking a safe to St Barts?” John struggled to keep up with Sherlock, his long legs confidently striding down the hallways. 

“They have the best tools to break into this safe. I don’t own a saw, you don’t own a crowbar and I don’t have the patience to play Simon Says with a safe. “

There was, surprisingly, no one in the morgue at 11pm on a Saturday night. Sherlock spotted a half-filled coffee cup on one desk, but with the pale ring of milk floating on top he knew that it hadn’t been touched since Friday. They had the place to themselves. 

Five minutes later and the contents of the safe was spread out before them like a treasure trove. There was a pack if Minstrels with a post-it note saying “In case of emergency, eat”, a passport, some documents, a necklace and a thumb drive.

Sherlock picked it up gently and looked at it in detail. It was an 8Gb model, one of the ones that could go onto a key chain. It looked fairly beaten up, and someone had gone to great pains to bend the pins of the connector to make sure that it could still go into a slot. There was a rusty brown residue on the one side of the plastic case which Sherlock scraped into a plastic bag without a second thought. The blood on the memory stick didn’t surprise him, and he would bet that it was Paul Templeton’s blood too. 

A quick shake of the morgue computer’s mouse and the hard drive hummed back to life. Sherlock had to take a few seconds to find Molly’s new password (it was toby26, how tedious naming her password after a cat) but he could finally slide the memory stick into the appropriate port. A light on the stick flickered as the computer registered the drive and Sherlock chuckled in triumph, only to be met with a password screen. 

The cursor blinked accusingly at Sherlock. 

“So go on then, what are you waiting for?” John peered over Sherlock’s shoulder. 

“It’s not so easy to guess the password of someone you don’t know John. Molly’s always has something to do with her cat or a boyfriend, and yours always has something do with a medical term but I don’t know the owner of this memory stick.”

“Is there a way around it?”

“There is, but it is always a bit tricky. If the previous owner had set it up correctly all the data on the stick would be wiped if there were enough incorrect attempts, or if an attempt is made through the back door. “

“Oh. So what are we going to do?”

“You are going to call Rachel Templeton and get as much information from her about her brother. I am going to analyse this blood I got off the memory stick.”

Sherlock triumphantly waved the little plastic baggie in front of John and pocketed the memory stick again. 

“Off you go, and bring back some food when you are done. Man cannot live on tea alone you know.”

John headed towards to hospital cafeteria and was surprised to see four missed calls on his mobile. The voicemail from Rachel surprised him, and despite the late hour he called her back immediately. 

“Where are you?”

“I’m on the train, heading to London.”

“What’s wrong? Are you alright?”

“John, I need to open that safe. I can’t tell you why, but just know that I need whatever is in that safe straight away. Are you still in Baker Street?”

“We’re at St Bart’s Hospital. Are you sure you are ok?”

“The nearest tube stop would be St Paul’s, yes? Can you meet me there in… twenty minutes? Please John, I can’t say anymore right now.”

“St Paul’s, twenty minutes. I’ll meet you on the north side exit. “

“Thank you John.”

John sighed and hung up the phone. If could get a cab he might be able to pick up dinner for them too. 

 

As promised, John was waiting for Rachel at the north side exit, carrier bag in hand. Rachel vibrated with tension and was surprised to not see Sherlock next to John. She was surprised how used she had gotten to the one with the other. 

“Dinner. “ John held up the carrier bag, and Rachel was peered at the three kebabs inside. A rumble from her stomach reminded her that lunch was a long time ago and with all the chaos of the evening, she had managed to skip dinner again. 

“Don’t tell me anything you want to tell Sherlock too. It’s silly to repeat the information and he’ll be annoyed that we talked without him.”

John set a brisk pace to St Bart’s and if Rachel didn’t know any better she would’ve said that they looked like a normal couple on a Saturday night, take-out in hand. They talked about a film they both wanted to see and about the transformation of London from car-based to cycle based. John talked about his locum work in some of the more interesting areas and Rachel was only to keen to bend his ear about some of the more interesting cases she worked on as a lobbyist. 

“So what would’ve been the worst case you’ve had to work on?” John asked her. St Bart’s outline was coming closer, and she mentally started girding her loins. She appreciated John’s attempts to distract her from talking to Sherlock again. 

“I would have to say the sexual harassment lot. It was so easy to offend them, and everything was seen as harassment. They were their own worst enemy in the end.”

“Made it a bit difficult for you?”

“Almost impossible. I think when your job is about innuendos and dirty messages in everything, you do start seeing it everywhere. I received an official complaint about the way I tapped my pencil in a meeting.”

‘Was it sexual?”

“Apparently. I’ve never looked at my Faber-Castell HB in the same way again, I assure you.” Rachel laughed when she thought back to that day and was completely surprised to find that they had walked all the way down to the morgue. 

Sherlock was there, hunched over a microscope and there was a slight, red-haired girl next to him. 

“Sherlock, you can’t just come in here when it suits you. I’ve already been in trouble about you being in here unsupervised and I am quite keen on keeping my job.”

“But I am not unsupervised, you are here. Now be a good girl and hand me that petri dish on the desk next to you.”

Rachel could see the girl was tempted to hurl the dish at Sherlock’s head, but before thought could turn into action, John cleared his throat. 

“Dinner, Sherlock. And look who I found”

Sherlock and the girl looked up at them with surprise. They both seemed unaware that John and Rachel had been there for a few minutes and the girl jumped back half a metre from Sherlock. 

“Dr Watson, I didn’t know you were here too. And you have someone with you.” The girl? Woman? She looked about Rachel’s age but seemed younger, looked flustered and embarrassed.

“I ah, just went to get some food. Molly, may I present Rachel Templeton? Rachel, this is Dr Molly Hooper, one of the pathologists here at St Bart’s. She kindly let’s Sherlock use her lab from time to time.”

Molly shyly waved hello at Rachel. 

“Rachel, what blood type was your brother?”

The question was so strange that Rachel didn’t even think of not replying. 

“He was AB+, why?”

“Just proving my genius again. We seemed to have something of your brother’s in that safe. “

“You broke the code? So quickly? What was it?”

“We used a crowbar, actually. Here you go Sherlock.” John leaned over the table to hand Sherlock the kebab. Rachel’s mouth started watering as the smell of roast lamb permeated the laboratory. 

“You can’t eat here, not after the last time. I was about to go on a tea break if you want to join me in the cafeteria?” Molly hopefully looked at Sherlock. Rachel hoped that she had never looked so obvious when she mooned over a crush. 

“It should be quiet enough there to discuss what we need to. Excellent idea, Molly.” 

Molly practically levitated from the praise and Rachel was embarrassed for her part. 

“Just let me get my sandwich and I’ll join you. Be right back.” Molly practically sprinted out of the lab. 

John gave Rachel a look to indicate that she shouldn’t mention anything about what she saw between Molly and Sherlock. She just rolled her eyes and sighed. She wasn’t planning on interfering anyway. 

Death by Misadventure  
5/14

The cafeteria was surprisingly busy for almost midnight on a Saturday. People in party clothes clustered around for watered down tea, tired parents in rumpled clothing buying chocolate and in a corner, a few nurses were gossiping over cans of Diet Coke. 

Rachel realised that she would never forget the way that Sherlock Holmes tucked in that kebab. He wolfed it down with such gusto that she amazed that there wasn’t a trace of sauce on his sleeves or on his clothes. A small dab of brown sauce lingered in the corner of his mouth and before anyone could say anything, his tongue darted out to lick away the errant droplet. 

John approached his much more sedately and Rachel picked at hers. She wistfully thought of her bathroom scales and the weekly battle with it on Monday morning, shrugged and starting eating the kebab anyway. Sherlock pulled the memory stick out when she was about half way done. 

“This was the only thing we could think of that might have been your brother’s that we found in the safe. Unfortunately it is password protected and I didn’t want to risk damaging it before speaking to you. “

Rachel’s eyes grew bigger when she saw him play with the stick, moving it end over end on the table. John was relieved to see that Sherlock had removed the rest of the blood that had caked on to the plastic casing. Rachel held out her hand for the memory stick and Sherlock placed it in her palm, his touch unexpectedly warm. For some reason, she thought it would be icy cold. 

Rachel was surprised to see a memory stick. From what the voice had told her, she had expected to see maybe a photograph or something tangible that had to be surrendered. This was just so unusual. 

“You seem surprised. Does it have to do with why we are seeing you tonight?” 

John nodded at Rachel, it seemed like the time to tell her story was now. With as much detail as she could remember, Rachel told them what had happened. Sherlock took her phone and wrote down the number that had texted her but beyond that didn’t say or do anything. 

“How awful.” Molly shook her head. “I don’t know what I would do if that were to happen to me. It was bad enough when my dad died, I don’t know how I would cope when someone who was involved with my brother’s death called me.” 

“Yes, that is rather unusual. I think they were after what is on that memory stick.” Sherlock impatiently tapped his fingers on his lips. “Do you an idea, any idea of what the password might be?”

Rachel looked at the memory stick. It reminded her of uni days and having to save everything on memory sticks because her laptop had been so unreliable. She rubbed her thumb over the case, clearing up some of the grime that had accumulated on the stick. It was clear it had seen better days, but she was surprised to see a small glyph scratched into the casing. In fact, until she tilted the stick the glyph was hardly visible at all. 

Suddenly, Rachel laughed. It was so bloody typical of Paul to do it this way, and she looked guiltily around the cafeteria. Laughter was not a typical occurrence at St Bart’s. She ran her thumb across the glyph again and smiled.

“I think I know what the password is Sherlock. Do you have a computer I could use?”

 

“When Paul and I were children, we were huge X-file fans, and when Chris Carter started another show we were both keen to see that one develop as well. The show was called Millennium, and it tapped into the whole hysteria about the end of the world. My mum hated that we were watching the show, so we had to get a code word to talk about it. The logo of the show was a snake eating itself, but ouroboros is a bit of an odd word to throw into conversation so we had to dumb it down a bit.”

Rachel held out the memory card for them to see. There was something similar to a ring scratched into the surface, or if you squinted, a snake eating its own tail. She pushed the card into the correct port and when it asked for a password she confidently typed in HALO.

Incorrect Password. You have two more attempts remaining.  
Would you like a password reminder?

Rachel frowned and requested the reminder.

It has a beginning but no end

Rachel looked at the screen in puzzlement, tapped her fingers against her lips and finally typed: CIRCLE

Incorrect Password. You have one more attempt remaining.  
Would you like a password reminder?

Nobody breathed when Rachel requested the second reminder.  
Tick Tock Tick Tock

Sherlock groaned in horror at the clue and leaned over Rachel to type: TIME

A small beep and the contents of the memory stick was before them. 

It was a video file and Rachel double clicked to open it. She was surprised to see Paul’s face before her, looking so young and so earnest, exactly as she remembered him. 

“Hi Rachel, if you are watching this then it either means I am dead or in serious trouble. Boy, I hope it is the last one of those two options. 

Trev and I, well, we’ve become an item in the last few months. I never knew this is how I would out myself, but I am hoping that I can do it in person instead of over this. Trev is involved in some pretty weird shit, I don’t know what else to call it. I have to try and stop him before he blows up the whole of London but in case something goes wrong, you need to contact Liz Barret at the university. She’s my mentor on my thesis and I gave her a book to hold for me. 

I suppose the whole thing really started falling apart when I found out that Trev was involved in some sort of extremist group. He tried to tell me what they were about but to be honest, it was so crazy that I still don’t understand what they are protesting. All I know is that they have some major plans to blow something up in London. Trev is a chemistry major and knows all about these things. He’s been working on some sort of bomb for a couple of months and I think they are going to target the tube. 

Rachel, if you do find this after… well after I’m not there… just know that I forgive you. It wasn’t your fault what happened and I regret not telling you this earlier. Also, if a guy called Simeon starts calling you, don’t listen to a word he says. He’s the leader of the nutcases. 

I don’t have a lot of time left to stop this batshit craziness, I just hope I come out of this alive. Catch ya laters! “

Rachel angrily blinked back tears that had appeared. This wasn’t a time for crying, she had to stay angry and focussed. There was an awkward silence in the morgue until John put his hand in Rachel’s shoulder. 

“I am so sorry that your brother … “

“Was in over his head? Knew he was in danger? Refused to ask for help? Is dead? I don’t know what I would’ve done even if he came to me. “

“Bennett, Bennett, Bennett… I’ve heard that name before.” Sherlock pulled his phone out and started searching the internet. A few mutters was the only thing until he angrily put his phone back in his coat. 

“We might as well go back home. It’s silly to spend the night in the morgue and we probably won’t be able to contact this Liz Bennett before dawn anyway. At least your brother has given me more information to work with.”

“He has indeed. Come along, John!” Sherlock stormed out of the lab, lost in his own world.

“Thanks for the use of your lab Molly” John said “I’m sure Sherlock would’ve thank you if he remembered.”

“It’s alright John, I know how he is. It was nice to meet you Rachel.”

Rachel smiled at Molly and was grateful when John escorted her out of the building. 

“Do you want to come back with us to Baker street? I can’t guarantee it will be as comfortable as a bed and breakfast but it is nearby and there are plenty of cafes in the area.” 

“I would really like that.”

 

“You can have my bed tonight Rachel. “ John pointed her in the direction of his bedroom. The room was clean and done in soothing colours. It was a bit bare, giving an impression of a man who didn’t use it for more than sleeping in. “The sheets are clean and ah, “John absentmindedly picked up a stray dirty sock “I’m only a few steps away. 

Sherlock still hadn’t returned from where he had disappeared to and the apartment felt strangely large without him there. 

“Please stay…” Rachel held out her hand to John. She didn’t think that she could cope with the loneliness of being with herself. Everytime she closed her eyes she could see Paul’s face in the video, looking so much like her father. “I don’t think I should be alone right now.” 

She eased back to the bed, sat down and pulled off her boots. John stood in front of her, looking for all the world like a confused puppy who wasn’t sure if he should attack or run away. 

“Can you hold me John? I know it’s strange but I need comfort and the last few days… I’m not always this weepy. “Rachel laughed through her tears “I just need to be reminded that I am human and alive. 

The longing in John’s eyes seem to seal her request. He sat down next to her, took his shoes off and turned to her in a hug. There was nothing sexual about the hug, just two lonely people hugging on a bed in their clothes. They slowly started lying down and Rachel turned so that John was spooning her. He pulled a blanket over the two of them and Rachel felt safe and secure. It felt strange being in bed, fully clothed with another man but sleep was becoming a real possibility. His breath was warm on her neck and she could feel his chest contract and expand in time with hers. His hand burned through her jumper onto her hip and her head on his arm was surprisingly comfortable. He had strong muscles on his arm and she hoped that her head wouldn’t cause his hand to fall asleep. The last thing Rachel remembered was John planting a small kiss on her head before oblivion claimed her.

The sun stabbed at Rachel’s eyes the next morning, John hadn’t closed the blinds. She was still in John’s arms, but his phone was out and he was furiously texting with one hand. 

“Good morning. I hope you slept well.”

“I did, thank you…”another kiss on her head. “It’s been a while since I’ve had a dreamless sleep. It would’ve been better if I didn’t have to wake up to Sherlock’s texts though.”

“Is he okay?” Rachel asked concernedly

“He’s downstairs, asked me to make him tea. I told him to sod off. No one needs to be awake before 7 on a Sunday morning. He’s spent most of the night at your brother’s apartment, trying to get more information about him and Trevor. “

“Did he find anything?”

“I am sure we’ll find out later. He can’t help but show off.” 

“Oh.” Rachel turned so that she was flat on her back. “John, about last night, I don’t normally…”

“Preposition men for cuddles?” 

Rachel giggled, it sounded absurd when John put it that way. 

“I enjoyed our cuddle. Maybe we can cuddle again sometime?” She raised an eyebrow and looked at him. His face was open and honest and a hint of boyishness glinted in his eye. 

“I’d like that. Tea?”

Death by Misadventure 6/14

Rachel made her way down the stairs to the main sitting area. Sherlock was furiously typing away at a laptop and John was bustling around the kitchen. It all looked so normal. 

Sherlock had a biscuit tin similar to hers on the table next to him, but it had different image on it. 

“Is that … Paul’s tin?”

“Excellent, Rachel! It’s always nice to deal with people who have some semblance of intellect. This is indeed the biscuit tin from Paul and Trevor’s kitchen. And do you want to hazard a guess what is inside it?”

“Another safe?” Rachel hazarded.

“No, but there was this.” Sherlock handed her a folded up piece of paper. Rachel unwrapped it and a small key fell out of the paper. There was also a receipt for post office not too far away, near St Paul’s cathedral and the number 259 written on it. 

“So we head to St Paul’s post office and try the key on post box 259?” Rachel was confused. 

“I tried that already, doesn’t fit. In fact, the post office shut down earlier this year. No, no, your brother was smarter than that. He is pointing us in another direction… I just need to figure it out.” Sherlock slumped back into his chair and proceeded to ignore John and Rachel while they made breakfast. 

It was cosy and Rachel could feel the tension seeping away from her. She kept on glancing at John and looked away whenever he looked at her. He had eventually convinced her to use and abuse the shower and handed her one of his shirts to wear until she got back to the shops. She didn’t want to go back to Harringay just yet. Just before she stepped into the shower, she turned to John.

“If my phone does ring while I am in there, please answer it. If it is that person I don’t want to rile him up any more than I have to. I still don’t know what he is looking for. “

“Will do. I’ll see you in a few minutes, we aren’t going anywhere.”  
With a smile Rachel stepped into the shower. The second John heard the water running Sherlock grabbed Rachel’s phone. 

He copied the number from the earlier text message and dialled it from his phone. 

“What do you think you are doing?”

“Getting us more information, if there really are a bunch of people running around with the intent of blowing something up, don’t you think we should find out more? Now shush, it’s ringing. “

Sherlock put the phone on speaker and didn’t make a sound when the phone was answered. 

“Hello, this is Simeon. Jim, is that you?” A male voice asked. They could hear the rush of water and a ferry horn in the background.

“Hello? Anyone there? Sod this. Must’ve been butt dialled or something.” The man hung up. 

“And how was that useful?” John was confused. He would’ve expected Sherlock to speak to the man on the phone, to dazzle and bully him with his intellect. 

“Oh think, John. We now know that this number belongs to Simeon so if we save it to her phone like so… “ Sherlock pressed a few numbers “it won’t say number withheld when he dials. And we now also know that Simeon is expecting a call from Jim, who might be one of his co-conspirators. We also know that he is London, as only London ferries’ horns use the C sharp horn.”

“That was amazing.”

“I suppose it could be. Now do you think she’ll finish up before all the hot water is gone?”

Text to: G Lestrade  
Any terrorists with a name called Simeon or Jim? SH. 10:45

Text from: G Lestrade  
Any reason why you’re asking? 10:48

Text to: G Lestrade  
Might be a matter of national security or just amateur terrorists. More info to come 10:50

Rachel limped out of the shower. The last few days had been hell on her leg and she’d been neglecting her exercises. It was agony to put her clothes back on but she didn’t want to prance naked in front of John and Sherlock. The bathroom was steamed up and she dug through the cabinets in search of something to straighten her hair with. She giggled when she found the hair products shelf; the guys had more product than her! She also found some moisturiser and wondered which one of the two was the metrosexual. Feeling more human she left the bathroom and was impressed by the cloud of steam that followed her as soon as she opened the door. A few agonising steps and she collapsed on the sofa. She placed her hands on the ligaments surrounding her knee and massaged the knotted flesh. 

“May I?” John sat down next to her and held his hands over her knee. 

“Of course. It felt fine this morning but the shower must’ve triggered something. It comes and goes, but I don’t also spend as much time on my feet as I’ve done lately.”

John softly moved his hand over leg and pressed in a few key spots. He was surprised how swollen the joint was 

“I’m going to have to look at it with out your trousers in the way. Just let me…” he motioned as if he was going to roll up the trouser leg but Rachel stopped him.

“No, thank you. I don’t…. people shouldn’t have to look at scars like mine.”

“Rachel I’m a doctor. I was an army surgeon. I have seen injuries that are horrific and somehow I doubt that your knee will rank in my top 10 of worst injuries seen, unless you are hiding a tacky tattoo. I can’t help you if I can’t see where the scar tissue is.”

Rachel bit her lip in anxiety. No one had seen the extent of her injuries, except the emergency personnel after the accident. She’d been careful to hide the true extent of it to everyone. She slowly nodded, and before she could change her mind John pushed the pipe up. 

Her knee was a mess of faded scar tissue, but the flesh was swollen and tender. John softly pressed here and there, and pronounced it inflamed. A few tablets of ibuprofen and she should be fine. Rachel refused to meet his eyes; she didn’t want to know if he was looking at her with pity. 

“You’re going to need this today” John handed her his cane. It’s been ages since he’s needed it. Rachel flexes her fingers around the knob at the end and with great effort, pulls herself up. Her knee twinges from the exertion but the cane takes most of the pressure and she could feel the pain dulling to a throb. 

Rachel takes a few experimental steps around the apartment before she finds her stride. The cane does make it easier for her to walk, and she decides that comfort can take precedence over style, at least for today.

“Oh, how I love our interconnected society. Thanks to Facebook life is just so much easer! Behold!” Sherlock chortled with glee and turned the laptop’s screen that he was working on towards Rachel. 

“Your brother never logged out of his Facebook account on his laptop, and here we can see our conspirators. Simeon McCaucus-Bigg, Jim Clancy and Liz Barrett are all on his friends list and look… here are their phone numbers. So easy!” 

John stifled a grin when Sherlock read out all the names. 

“I don’t think that is Simeon’s real last name Sherlock.” Even Rachel looked amused by the name. Sherlock sounded it out a few times before a belated grin came over his face. 

“Oh how infantile. Makes me bored with the whole thing again.” Sherlock started clicking through the message history and was just about to read a particularly riveting love note between Paul and Trevor when the chat box opened up.

Liz Barrett: Paul, thank God, you ok? Why aren’t u answering ur phone?

Rachel instantly focused on the message from Liz. It was clear that she had known that Paul had been in over his head with something. Sherlock tilted his head in thought, and rapidly replied

Paul Templeton: Managed to get out ok, but am a bit banged up. Can you help? 

Liz Barrett: So glad you are ok. Want me to bring Simeon too?

Paul Templeton: No, just you. 

Liz Barrett. Ok. I can do that. Meet you at the sandwich shop?

Sherlock shook his head. “Too many sandwich shops in the area, we’ll never know which one she means. Suggestions for meeting location?”

“How about a coffee shop at a train station? Less chance of being suspicious there.” John suggested. 

Sherlock shook his head. “Too many chances of her being tailed. I think we should try for something a little bit in your face”.

Paul Templeton: Bunhill Fields cemetery. I’ll be near the caretakers office. Bring food, please.

Liz Barrett: That’s ages away, are you sure?

Paul Templeton: I have to go, c ya laters

Sherlock closed the chat function and waited to see what Liz would do. Sure enough, as soon as Sherlock made Paul’s feed less live saw Liz’s new status update.

“The day just gets more surprising. Hooray for finding old friends.”

Sherlock smiled a lazy smile and pulled out his mobile.

Text to: G Lestrade  
I have a break with our bumbling terrorists. Meet me Bunhill Fields. Bring a gun

Text from: G Lestrade  
Christ, don’t you believe in weekends? 

Text to: G Lestrade  
The roast your wife just put in front of you was undercooked anyway

“Let’s go look at some historic graves.” Sherlock flamboyantly tied his scarf and gestured Rachel and John out the door. 

Death by Misadventure  
7/14

Rachel thought it was fitting to meet someone who had somehow had a hand in her brother’s death in a cemetery. The cemetery was surprisingly packed and Sherlock gave an impromptu lecture on the site:

“Bunhill Fields is a former Dissenters' burial ground of four hectares, bounded by City Road to the east and Bunhill Row to the west. It is the last resting place for an estimated 120,000 bodies.

The site has a long history as a burial ground, but is most significant for its Nonconformist connections, dating from the 17th, 18th and 19th centuries, and the burial of prominent people including William Blake, Daniel Defoe, John Bunyan and Susannah Wesley.  Bunhill Fields also forms part of the Bunhill Fields Burial Ground and Finsbury Square Conservation Area and has 75 listed tombs within its boundary.” 

“That would explain all the tourists over there then.” John pointed towards to black clad students mournfully gazing at the grave of Daniel Defoe. One girl was openly weeping and Sherlock snorted in derision. 

Rachel stamped her feet in an effort to keep warm and buried her hands in her coat pockets. She would need to get some gloves if she was going to continue using the cane, she could feel a blister forming in her palm already. The small group huddled near the caretaker’s cottage and John hailed DI Lestrade who appeared a few minutes later. He was followed by an unassuming officer, obviously uncomfortable to be outside without his uniform. 

“So what’s this about then?”

“Patience, Lestrade. If I timed this right, and I usually do, then our quarry will step out from behind the grave over there in about two minutes. The short version is that Liz Barrett, who is meeting us here, was teaching Paul Templeton. Liz is involved with Simeon who, for reasons that are not yet clear, wants to blow part of London up. Paul found out, realized that Trevor was involved, tried to stop him and died. We need to know what Liz knows so that we can find the rest of the group and stop them.”

Rachel’s mouth hung open. She had no idea that this is what Paul had gotten himself involved in. She watched Sherlock scan the graveyard, waiting for Liz to show herself. John’s hand rested on top of her hand holding on to the cane.

“You alright?”

“I’m … “ words failed Rachel.

“I know, just try and remember to not murder the poor woman when she stands in front of us. Sherlock will get whatever information he needs out of her, I promise.”

Just when Liz stepped out from behind the gravestone, Rachel’s phone rang

Call from: Simeon (blocked number)

Rachel was torn between answering the call and watching Sherlock confront Liz, but John indicated that it was best she answered. 

“Hello?”  
*** 

Sherlock waited until he saw Liz look around in confusion before signaling Lestrade to take Liz in hand. Without anyone being any wiser, Lestrade walked up to Liz and held her hands behind her back. 

“DI Lestrade, Scotland Yard. I would suggest that don’t struggle and don’t bring any attention to yourself. My friend and I are only going to ask you a few questions. If you cooperate, things will end will. If you don’t, well it won’t end so well. Simply nod your head if you understand”

Liz nodded her head.

“Very good. Now I’m going to steer you to that tree over there and you, my friend and I are going to have a little chat. Don’t say anything until the three of us are together. Nod if you understand.”

Liz nodded again. 

***  
“Did you find it?”

Rachel shuddered with the menace of the voice. 

“I still don’t know what you mean. If you could give me some idea what I am looking for…” 

John encouragingly squeezed her hand. Keep talking, he mouthed. 

“Oh Rachel, I honestly thought you were smarter than this. And I see you brought a friend too.”

“He knows you’re here.” She mouthed to John

“Well, I ah… I thought two heads might be better than one and all that. If you told me what to look for, maybe we could get there twice as fast.” 

“Oh Rachel, such optimism. But because you are such a good sport, I’ll tell you what to look for. Your brother took a disc from me, a very important disc. I need that disc and I need it soon. Look at your friend for a second.”

Rachel looked up and saw a small red dot on John’s forehead. 

“Do I need to give you an incentive?” Simeon cooed over the phone. 

***  
“I’m pretty sure that what you are doing is illegal.” 

Sherlock ignored Liz’s comment and looked at her with his oh so knowledgeable stare. 

“Why did you tell Simeon you were meeting Paul here?” 

“I have no idea what you are talking about. Where is Paul?”

“Paul is, as you know, very much dead from the bomb blast. A blast that you knew about. Tell me Liz, how long have you known about the revolutionary tendencies of your students?”

“Revolutionary? Hah! They wouldn’t know revolution if it bit them in arse. They were just playing, trying to be heroes. Not like some other people I know.”

“And that person would be Simeon? How interesting. What fascinates me is how you got Trevor involved in your scheme. Paul was predictable, fell in love with someone who was in over his head but you, you got Trevor to do something interesting, didn’t you?”

Liz sullenly glared at Sherlock. 

“When the revolution comes, you will be first against the wall, I promise you.” 

Lestrade held onto Liz a bit tighter, he could feel her starting to move away. 

Suddenly a shot ran out, and they could hear Rachel screaming. Liz used the distraction to pull herself out of Lestrade’s grip and ran through the graveyard, easily blending into the crowd of tourists. 

Sherlock and Lestrade bounded to the back of mausoleum, and were horrified to see Rachel checking over John’s bleeding face. 

“It’s alright, I wasn’t shot. It’s just shrapnel from the stone. Just a few scratches” John reassured them. 

Rachel kept on stroking his face, plucking bits of stone from his hair. Her fingers traced over every area of his skin, wanting reassurance through touch that all was right, all was ok. 

There was a nasty cut near John’s hairline and Rachel fished a tissue out of her handbag to blot it. Her hand was perfectly steady and it felt as if she was waking up from a long dream. Everything felt clearer, brighter and there was cold certainty in her actions. 

Rachel was done being the victim of circumstance. 

 

Death by Misadventure  
8/14

Rachel sipped on the tepid vending machine coffee and pulled her face. It was absolutely disgusting, but clearly better than the tea that Sherlock was drinking. John was still in A&E, getting tended to by an over-eager medical student. The cut on his forehead required stitches and John was ever patient with the student’s attempt. Sherlock was an absolute mess in the waiting room, and alternated between checking his phone and harassing the medical personnel.

Lestrade had managed to pull a few strings and get a surveillance team on both Liz and Simeon, but it seemed that the would-be revolutionaries were laying low. The waiting room television was stuck on BBC World and Rachel kept on watching the never ending loop of news, rarely bringing something new on. 

It was a Sunday night, nearing 8pm when the newscaster sat more upright as something unexpected popped up on her teleprompter. 

“Breaking news. Reports have just come in about a fanatic group that have kidnapped the governor of the Bank of England. Twitter is abuzz with descriptions of a suit-clad army of young men and women, who stormed the building after hours and left with the governor at gun point. Our reporter on the scene has more.”

The screen cut to a smart young man, looking very eager to break the story. He had a bullet proof vest on with BBC blazoned on it, and looked more excited than scared. Sherlock had put away his phone and was peering at the screen intently.

“Nothing much is know of the group, calling themselves the British United Monetary Society or BUMS for short, either than they have a kidnapped the governor and have sent out a press release taking full responsibility for the attack, with a promise of more details to be released in the next hour. 

Speculation is rife about what the group will demand but the key question on everyone’s lips are who is this group, and what do they want?” 

The television anchor returned to the screen, repeating what the reporter had just said. Sherlock merely raised an eyebrow and created a new Twitter feedstream to keep appraised of the situation. 

John wandered out to the waiting room, looking dapper with a bandage covering most of his forehead and clutching something that looked suspiciously like a med student’s phone number in his hand. 

“Did I miss anything interesting?”

***

The trio trooped up to 221B Baker Street, Sherlock striding ahead, deep in thought. Rachel helped John up to his bed, and when he sat down she started pulling his shoes off. 

“What are you doing?” John asked, flustered. 

“You got shot at because of me John. Today, some mad man aimed a gun at your head and shot at you. The very least I could do is make you comfortable in some way. Oh God, I can’t believe how close he came to killing you.”

“Yes well, if he used the gun I think he did it, should get cleaned. Those rifles do tend to pull a bit to the left when they aren’t oiled and cleaned regularly.” John smiled at Rachel and pulled her closer for a hug.

“Are you alright? I thought you did really well with Simeon on the phone.”

“I’m angry, John. I’m angry at Simeon for doing this to my family, I’m angry that I didn’t get to repair my relationship with Paul before he died and I am angry that I am just sitting here, not doing anything about it.”

“Anger is a good emotion in this case, you know. It means you are still alive, and that you are still fighting. When I got shot in Afghanistan I was angry for a long time. I still am sometimes. But you get up in the morning, and you do the best you can do and know that just by surviving you are irritating the person who shot you even more. 

Rachel smiled and looked at John. He has kind eyes, she thought not for the first time. Time seemed to slow down. Rachel could hear Sherlock moving around downstairs in the kitchen, the distant rumble of a truck and the yellow light from John’s bedside table seemed to give everything a warm, golden glow. She licked her lips nervously and saw John echoing her movements. She could smell the hospital and sweat on him and saw where the nurse had missed a few drops of blood. And then, before she could even think it, his lips brushed hers. It was soft, softer than rose petal. Men shouldn’t have such soft lips, she thought, but the thought was pushed out of her head the second his stubble scraped against her chin. His lips travelled over her face, leaving light kisses over here eyes, her nose, her cheeks. 

Rachel could hear her heartbeat. In this moment there was only her, John and the growing tension in the room. It felt right, it felt decisive and it felt like Rachel was taking control for once. 

Licking her lips once more she started kissing his neck, moving down until she started laving that spot where neck and shoulder met. Impatiently she tugged at his jumper until he laughingly helped her take it off. She was faced with a chest that told stories of war, of strange travels and a recent softening around his belly. She kissed the scar on his shoulder where the bullet had hit him in the war, she kissed the scattering of dark blonde hair on his chest and gently nipped at nipple. 

John groaned in appreciation and pulled her back up to kiss him. Rachel felt so very alive, nestled against John, cradling his erection between her thighs, pressing against her just so, to make her want more. His hands started pulling up her shirt, kissing along her torso as he moved the shirt up. He moved so slow, too slow in Rachel’s mind, and all she wanted was more. 

Impatiently she grabbed John’s crotch and massaged his erection through his trousers, eliciting a growl and a small bite on her belly. Rachel wanted more, needed more and he wasn’t playing. Finally her shirt was bunched up under her armpits and John could start worshiping her breasts. 

There was no other word that could be used for what he did. He licked them, teased them, rolled her nipples between his fingers and Rachel swore that could feel an orgasm building. She groaned appreciatively when his mouth latched onto a nipple and his tongue, oh his tongue. Didn’t the women of London know what they were missing? Bliss overtook her and she was its eager slave. 

John started unbuttoning her jeans and his hands were on the zipper when his phone buzzed. He stilled, decided to ignore it and continued with his explorations. He could smell Rachel’s arousal and Sherlock bloody Holmes was not going to ruin this moment as well. He needed release, he needed to feel alive and he needed comfort. This was the best way to do it. 

Rachel’s eyes were clenched shut when John tentatively stroked her labia through her panties. She was soaking and he knew that a few more strokes here and there and she would be his for the night. His cock ached from arousal and it had been too long since he had taken matters into his own hands. He moved back up to kiss her mouth and ground himself between her legs, and took great joy in her whimper. His hands moved down to pull down her panties and his phone beeped again. John didn’t even look in the direction of the phone, he was too focussed on what was happening on the bed. 

“You don’t have any condoms, do you?” Rachel asked. Safe sex might ruin the mood but she wasn’t in any mood to deal with a possible infection or other complications. 

John dug around in his bedside table, and Rachel took the opportunity to unbutton his jeans and pull them down. They bundled around his ankles and she was too fascinated by the bulge in his grey cotton boxers to take it any further. There was a small wet spot where his cock had started leaking pre-cum already and she licked her lips, anticipating taking his length in her mouth. 

She motioned to pull down his boxers when there was a loud thump outside John’s bedroom door. 

“Oh for God’s sake.” John groaned, erection withering slightly in the face of having to yell at Sherlock. “Just, stay here, ok? Hold that thought?” John kissed Rachel briefly on the nose, pulled his jeans up and went through the door. 

Death by Misadventure  
9/14

John hastily pulled the zipper up and stomped down the stairs, fully intending to make Sherlock understand that the metaphorical sock was on the door when he saw Sherlock and Mycroft both having a cup of tea. 

Mycroft looked impeccable as always, perfectly tailored suit and tie and his shoes still had a convincing shine. Sherlock’s hair was damp from the shower and he rolled his eyes when he saw John enter the room without a shirt. 

“So glad you could join us Dr Watson. This won’t take a second, I assure you, then you can return to… whatever you were doing.” Mycroft sipped dismissively from his teacup before walking over to the fireplace, looking for a safe spot to put the cup and saucer down. Finding no spot uncluttered, he sighed to himself before placing it on top of the correspondence on the mantel. 

“I take it you’ve been following the news?” Mycroft’s hands were in his pockets, looking for all the world like a schoolboy. 

“I saw that the price of milk dropped by 5p, is that what you mean?” Sherlock asked dryly. 

“I had no idea you were so interested in groceries. I should ask you to go over my bills sometime. No, what I am talking about is the fact that Bill Palmers, the governor of the Bank of England was kidnapped earlier tonight by a group with a very childish name.”

“Isn’t this a case for Scotland Yard or MI5 or someone else?” 

“Unfortunately no. The situation calls for a certain amount of delicacy and I believe that you’ve already had a brush with one of the member of the group. A Liz Barrett? “

“We spoke to her earlier today, yes. That’s how John got that lovely set of stiches on his face. “ 

“Well it seems that she is part of the so-called Board of Directors for BUMS. She is charge of resources and she had done very well at the university where she used to teach.”

“Used to?” John asked. 

“She was asked to resign last term, she had apparently been caught in a very compromising position with one of her students. In fact, until her dismissal the university had no idea of any inappropriate behaviour but after she left, more of her victims came forward. “

“Victims? All of them students who were hot for teacher?”

“Oh, nothing quite as scandalous as that. What she would do is target students from rather influential families. Buddy up with them, supply them with drugs, other students, made sure they got good marks. When they started to relax, she would start blackmailing them. In some cases it was for information, but the majority was for money. The student that caused her little cabal to topple had a thing for older ladies and she was caught fellating him in one of the lecture halls.”

“That had to leave a bitter taste in her mouth.”

“Yes, rather. The reason why we are approaching you on this is that Miss Rachel Palmerton’s brother was caught in her web somehow. I understand that is her that you have secreted upstairs, Dr Watson?” Without waiting for a reply Mycroft continued. “Paul Templeton became concerned when his flatmate and possible lover Trevor Bledlow became an active member in the BUMS organisation. Liz Barrett had somehow managed to turn him from blackmailed student to fanatical member. Paul joined the organisation in an effort to impress Trevor and quickly moved up the ranks to assist Liz. This is where our details become a bit patchy. It has been rumoured that Paul made a disc of the group’s plans for a big event here in London, something involving a terror plot. Trevor was sent to speak with him about it, and in the process they both were blown up in an apparent murder-suicide. “

“What does that have to do with us?” John looked puzzled. 

“The disc, Dr Watson, was not in Paul’s possession when it was blown up. In fact, no one has been able to find it. What makes that disc especially interesting for us is that it contains not only the locations and names of all the members of BUMS, but also their plan to systematically take over the British economy. I could see how this might come across as rather appealing for some members of the public, especially in the wake of recent scandals but the leader of this group has something rather more sinister in mind.”

“I take it their leader is this Simeon fellow then?” Sherlock asked, bored. 

“Oh no. Simeon van der Swardt is their head of security, the person who keeps the members in line. He’s a nasty bit of work and I have a few agents who would love to speak to him about his recent handiwork in Zambia. No, the leader hasn’t been identified yet.”

“So what do you want us to do then? Find out who the leader is?” 

“I want you Sherlock, to talk to Ms Templeton. Find that disc, decode it if necessary and bring it to me as soon as you can. The last thing this country needs right now is someone trying to emulate certain fascists. “

“Are you thinking of Hitler? Surely not! Yes, the country is in financial distress and there is a lot of unemployment happening, but it didn’t happen in the eighties, why would it happen now?”

“You forget Sherlock, that most of the people who served during WWII were still alive in the 80s. That is no longer the case, and the survivors tend to be shut away in old age homes. The British United Monetary Society is selling something that the government cannot match: the promise of a better tomorrow. “

John sat down and rubbed his hair in frustration, accidentally brushing against his stitches. The sting of the still tender bruise reminded him that Rachel was still upstairs, in his bed, waiting his return. He resented this intrusion into his life, all the times when he had to push away a romantic interest for the lure of the chase. He had fond memories of Sarah who tried to keep up, of so many other nameless beauties who had come through the door, through his heart and who all stomped out, faced with the vortex of insanity supplied by the Holmes brothers. 

He was tired. 

He stood up, bare feet cold on the wooden floor and turned to his staircase.

“Where do you think you are going?” Mycroft asked. He had two manila folders in his hand and had just handed the first one to Sherlock.

“I am going to bloody bed. If I have to save England, it can least wait until after I’ve had ten hours of sleep. “

Death by Misadventure  
10/14

By the time John had returned to the bedroom more than an hour had passed. At first Rachel took the time to get more and more comfortable, and without even noticing it she fell asleep. John ruefully shook his head and stripped down to his boxers and joined her. It had been a rather adventurous 48 hours. 

Monday morning greeted Rachel with muted sunlight and the perpetual gloom of a wintry British sky. John’s attic room was really quite comfortable, warm and cosy. Sometime in the night he must’ve joined her and she felt the comforting rhythm of his chest raising and falling behind her. A quick tap on her phone showed that it was barely past 6 a.m. and before she could think the better of it she tapped out an email to her boss, requesting some personal time off. The reply came back almost immediately; request granted and Rachel sighed in relief. The warmth of the duvet was alluring but not as alluring as the man sleeping next to her. 

Before she could think the better of it, Rachel started fondling John. He was already semi-erect but she knew enough of male anatomy to know that it wasn’t because of her. John stirred when she touched him and rolled onto his back, inadvertently giving her more access to him. A quick twist of her hand and his cock was out his boxers, drunkenly pulling itself erect. Rachel smiled pensively and bent down. 

***  
“So what’s this about then Lestrade?” Sherlock was bundled into his coat, keeping the bitter February wind from biting into him. He glanced at the commuters at King’s Cross station before turning his gaze to Lestrade. The DI had texted him in the early hours of the morning to meet him at the ticketing desk and to come alone. 

Lestrade was clutching a coffee as if his life depended on it and next to him stood a lean man with shaggy hair and thick glasses. He kept himself hunched to appear shorter, shoes shined with military precision but a cheap suit with an expensive coat. Piercing eyes that took in everything. Ex-military, possibly trained up and then got injured when wanting to join a specialised team. Soft hands, uses moisturiser frequently so must handle a lot of paperwork. 

“Sherlock, I want you to meet an old friend of mine. This is… let’s call him Bob. Bob asked to meet with you today about what happened over the weekend. With that, I am gone.” Lestrade threw a jaunty salute at the both of them and disappeared into the milling crowd. 

“Mr Holmes, it’s good to meet you, I’ve been a fan for a long time.” Bob held out his hand to shake Sherlock’s, and after a few moments recognised that Sherlock was not going hold out his. There was a rather awkward silence.

“Was it your eyes that stopped you from going to war?” 

Bob nodded. “Crack sniper, all ready for deployment. Some bloody rookie discharged a firearm without checking to see if anyone was in the target area. Hit some rock, shrapnel in my eye. Essentially blinded the left one. They shuffled me around on desk duty before I came to London.”

Sherlock inclined his head, and gestured for them to walk to a small café opposite the station. “I have some information Mr Holmes, but I am not sure how they are linked. Greg mentioned that you can solve any riddle. This is one of national importance.”

“Bah, riddles, boring! No, you are here because of something to do with the kidnapping over the weekend, yes?”

“Very good Mr Holmes, but Lestrade had already said as much. No, the puzzle that I have is much more involved than that. What does a secretary from Blackpool, a member of Lords and an ex-member of Cirque du Soleil have in common?”

***  
Rachel stumbled around the flat, trying to find tea bags. She had already greeted the severed head in the fridge and was too impatient to wait for John to finish in the shower. Her wet hair trailed a damp path down John’s shirt that she hastily threw on, not sure if or when Sherlock would return. 

A laptop was on and open in the main room and she headed over to check her email. Funeral arrangements would need to be made for Paul and she hoped that her flighty brother had at least progressed further than the will she made him scrawl down before he went to uni: I, Paul Templeton, being of sound mind and of my own free will, leave all my possessions, assets and funds to my sister, Rachel Templeton, on the event of my death. 

Her lawyer had already been tasked to track down Paul’s bank accounts and to recommend a good estate lawyer. Nothing urgent appeared in her work email and facebook had the usual self indulgent whining from her friends. She systematically went through all her email accounts, looking for something that even she didn’t know it was. 

Her last port of call was her Yahoo email account, the very first one she opened in the high school and which she mostly used for spam mails. In between messages asking her if she wanted prescription meds or to please her lover for longer, there was an email from Paul.

From: Paul Templeton “paul.templeton@kingscollege.edu.uk”  
To: Rachel “crazykat3456@yahoo.co.uk”  
Subject: cookie recipe

Dear Rachel

I’ve set this email on autosend unless I log in at certain times to stop it from sending. If this email goes through… well let’s just say that I would do everything in my power to not have this email go out. 

If my body has not been found, then there is still hope. If it is has, well then the obvious is there. 

Some people might come to you asking for a disc… 

Rachel instinctively pressed Ctrl+P, wanting to have a hard copy of the message before she continued. 

… and if they do, RUN to the nearest police station. There are people out there who will and have killed for that disc and it is worth my life to keep it out of their hands. I hope you found the little movie I made for you, it doesn’t explain much but please believe me when I say this will all make sense to you soon. 

Rachel skimmed over the parts where Paul wrote about his infatuation with Trevor and his increasing involvement with BUMS. There would be time to read it all again later, to grieve over every sentence Paul couldn’t tell her in person. Right now she needed to act, to stop the madness. 

I’ve placed a copy of their plans in a safety deposit box with gran’s boyfriend. I have to assume that they can and have read all my messages, or at least that Trev gave them access. 

There are so many things that I wish I could say to you. You are my big sister, my only living family and I am so sorry that we can’t seem to reconnect. I hope that when this is over we can sit down, have a cup of Milo and talk. 

This is big Rachel, bigger than you and I and this whole messed up life of ours. 

Either way, I’ll see you at the other side. 

Love

Paul

“John! Grab your jacket and text Sherlock. We have to go to Blackpool!”

***  
“Hmmm”. Sherlock tapped his fingers on the manila envelope Bob had left him with. The content of it was sensitive enough to ruin a few members of Parliament and political donors. The Lords connection was unexpected but added an unexpected thrill to the chase. Mycroft would have kittens if he knew that this sort of information was floating in the public sphere. A small smile played on his lips when he saw John’s message on his phone. This was going to be fun after all. 

Death by Misadventure  
11/14

Sherlock picked them up in a dark Vauxhall Commodore. The leather seats were butter soft and when John made to ask about the car, Sherlock simply mumbled something about Mycroft and blackmail. Whatever the case may be, Rachel was grateful that they didn’t have to do the 250 mile journey by train, and after some good nature bickering between the men, John triumphantly took the keys from Sherlock. Rachel was unsurprised to see the car stocked with all sorts of mobile chargers (Sherlock immediately plugged his in), tissues and even a pack of lollies in the glove box. 

“So why are we going to Blackpool?” Sherlock asked.

“We’re going to see a man called Rodney, who owns a pub near there. My gran had a … well she was an alcoholic. As much as you can be an alcoholic without regularly passing out. But she was fond of her G&Ts and Rodney was the barman who always served her. They got to know each other so well we started calling him her boyfriend. Despite the age difference, I mean, Rodney was old enough to be her son, they didn’t seem to mind. In retrospect, maybe there was a grain of truth in calling him her boyfriend.”

Rachel drew in on herself, mentally replaying what she knew about Rodney. Sherlock was engrossed in a manila folder that he pulled out as soon as they hit the M1. Rachel envied him the ability to read in the car, she always felt sick when she tried it. 

The journey passed quickly and despite traffic on the M1 they made the journey in slightly less than four and a half hours. Rachel pulled out her phone and thanks to a navigation app, directed them to a small pub near the outskirts of town. The unassuming dark brick building sported a wooden sign proclaiming it to be The Maiden’s Sigh. The last of the lunch crowd had trickled out by the time they arrived and the trio noisily trooped towards the bar. 

There was a young Australian behind the bar and after getting a drink for everyone Rachel asked the barkeep if Rodney was in. The barkeep nodded and indicated that they should sit down; he’d get Rodney for them. Rachel watched him leave and fiddled with the cardboard coaster until a burly man came out of the kitchen. She could feel the tension leaving her body, the unspoken fear that something had happened to Rodney melt away. He walked stiffly; favouring his left leg (just like her) except his was an old war wound. Paul used to tease that Rodney was actually Santa working his day job. 

“My, my little Rachel Templeton, it has been ages! How are you my dear?”

Rodney pulled her into a tight bear hug. He still smelt of Old Spice, and his beard was longer than what she remembered and tickled her neck. 

Rachel introduced Rodney to Sherlock and John, and she was glad to see them both relax for a few minutes in the pub. Sherlock had an odd glint in his eyes but Rachel attributed that to newness of the pub. 

They talked about old friends and family members until finally Rodney pulled down his small round spectacles and looked her in the eye.

“So what is this about, Rachel? I don’t see or hear from you since the accident, Paul visits me a month ago and here you are on hot on his trail. What is going on?

Rachel had to take a deep breath. She would have to start getting used to the idea of telling people of Paul’s death, but every time she did it was as if things just became more real. She told the story that she, John and Sherlock had agreed was the best possible to let other people know and when Rodney’s face fell when he heard about Paul, her heart broke all over again. Tears welled up her face and she angrily wiped them away. There would be time for tears later, time to grieve. 

“Rodney, I need to know if Paul asked you to keep anything last time he was here.” She held her breath, knowing that the key to mystery was within reach. 

“Well now… he did ask if I wouldn’t mind keeping a package for him in the safe. I suppose since he won’t come and pick it up I could hand it to you…” Rodney stiffly pulled himself up and hobbled over to the back of the pub. Sherlock took the opportunity to pull out his phone and send a flurry of text messages. Rodney returned with package, wrapped in brown wax paper. It felt like a book to Rachel, which didn’t make any sense. 

A scuffle started at the bar and Rodney stood up with a sigh. 

“It must the bloody Aussie’s fault. Doesn’t know when to cut Barney off. Be back soon, Rach.” He limped off with surprising speed and inserted himself in the thick of the argument. 

The trio watched the old man deftly defuse the situation before stepping behind the bar. It was clear that he wouldn’t have any more time to spare them today. Rachel motioned as if to wave goodbye and Rodney simply nodded. 

The package felt heavy with expectation and she wanted to open it up then and there but Sherlock held out his hand expectantly. Without any real reason why, she handed him the wrapped package and watched as he slipped it into his coat. 

They headed back towards the car and Sherlock had triumphantly pinched the keys from John. Rachel took the back seat this time and before they pulled out of the parking lot, Sherlock handed her his coat with the package still inside. 

“Try to not advertise what we have there.”

Rachel couldn’t wait to tear the wrapping off the package and see what Paul had left behind. Just after they left Blackpool she tore the package open. Inside was a battered copy of Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets. Rachel pawed through the pages, and was rewarded when a rewriteable CD-ROM fell into her lap. 

Paul had died for this, she thought. It was lightweight, looked disarmingly normal, like any of the MP3 discs that littered her (or used to) living room. John handed her the netbook that he had started carrying around (easier to write the blogposts on the go) and she put the disc in with shaking hands. 

File Directory D:/

Memberlist.xls  
Advertising.doc  
Project plan.doc  
Operation_Liberty.doc

With shaking hands she moved the cursor over Operation Liberty. Just as she was about to double click the icon, Sherlock’s phone rang. The Bluetooth kicked in and Sherlock answered over the speaker phone. It was Mycroft. 

The Governor had been released. 

Death by Misadventure  
12/14

“Just like that, released?” John was dumbfounded. 

“Yes Dr Watson, it would appear so. He asked for 30 minutes with his family and will then make a press statement on the steps of the Bank of England. The media has already started setting up. I haven’t been able to speak to him just yet, he keeps on avoiding me. I doubt you’ll be in London by the time he starts talking, so would suggest you pull over and watch it over the live stream.”

“Don’t tell me how to do my job Mycroft!”

“Sherlock, I am not telling you what to do, I am suggesting. And suggesting ways of making suggestions become reality. “

Before Sherlock could form a cutting reply Mycroft cut the call. John pulled out the map book and directed Sherlock to a nearby truckstop, while Rachel went looking for the livestream. The truckstop had a small tearoom near the back which sold nothing but bacon sandwiches and watered down tea, but it was quiet and Rachel found a power point to charge the laptop. Sipping their disgusting tea they huddled around the monitor, watching the live stream from the BBC site. 

*** 

Mycroft hated surprises, and he especially hated it when people avoided his questioning. However, he had known George for quite some time, and he had made a fairly good Governor of the Bank of England. Even so, he could see something was off when George stepped in front of the cameras. He was white with tension, and sweat dripped off his head. He also held a piece of paper in his hands, which was out of character. George had always been an excellent orator.

George seemed to waver about something until he saw something just behind the crowd of reporters. Mycroft scanned the crowd and didn’t see anything unusual, but he had spotters all over the place and enough recording devices to find whatever George had looked at. George stepped up to the microphones and the reporters obligingly became quiet, awaiting his statement. 

“As most of you know, I recently spent some time with the group calling themselves the British United Monetary Society. They have treated me with the utmost care and consideration and my time with them has been most educational. Through spending time with these amazing and hard working young people I have come to see the error of my ways. I have come to realise that it is I who have lead Britain into this period of economic disrepair and chaos. It is my fault that we have rising rates of unemployment and a welfare culture. I… “ George looked like he was going to pass out at this point. “I have nothing to offer you but my most sincere apologies, and I hope that my offering will in some way pay my debt to society.” George looked at the words on the paper with loathing and crumpled the sheet into a tiny ball. He dug around his coat until he found what he was looking for. And then, so silently that Mycroft thought he imagined it he saw George whisper: “Die in hell you bastards.” 

George pulled a gun of his coat and shot himself in the head. 

It happened so fast that no one had any chance of stopping him, of realising what he was about to do. Some people screamed, others rushed towards George. Mycroft looked at the crowd and saw someone, someone small, walk away from the scene. He beckoned to Anthea who was standing a few feet away and motioned to the retreating figure with his umbrella. 

“I think that is someone that I want to have a conversation with. Do find out who they are and have them brought somewhere suitably intimidating, would you?”

***  
Rachel sat back in the booth in shock. She wasn’t sure what she had seen, had trouble believing what she had seen. The man had just… blown his head off. Like that. As coolly as she would pull her fingers through her hair. 

Before she could even formulate a coherent thought John slapped the laptop closed, bundled it together with the cords and sprinted after Sherlock who had already the unlocked the car. Rachel felt like a guppy, struggling to breathe when she stepped into the car. 

“What just happened?”

“Shhhh” John looked back at her and pointed to the Bluetooth connection. It seemed that Sherlock was already approaching the problem. 

“Mycroft.”

“Did you enjoy the show?”

“Immensely. Tell me, who was he looking at before he pulled the trigger?”

“My men are tracking the individual now. I am just as keen to find out as you are.”

“And who will be stepping into his shoes?”

“That is usually done by Crown appointment. We have the necessary people in place but something tells me this will become a bit trickier as we progress. This BUMS group is become a serious pain.”

“Hmmm. We’ll be there in about an hour and a half but I would suggest you keep a close watch on his office. Something tells me this is going to go a lot further than we think. “

“Already have someone there. But thank you for the reminder.”

The call was cut rather abruptly. Sherlock drummed his fingers on the steering wheel before pulling off the motorway and into the emergency lane. 

“John, you drive. I need to think, need to ask the right question. Something is… Oh. What have we forgotten about in all this excitement? That disc! That beautiful disc that Paul got us. Rachel, you sit in front, I think I need to spend some quality time with the computer. “

The switch is seating arrangements happened rather quickly and Rachel was amused when John handed Sherlock a pair of noise-cancelling headphones from his bottomless backpack. John saw the look of surprise on her face and explained after Sherlock had switched them on. 

“He keeps on complaining he can hear people think. I discovered if he puts those on, it makes it less likely that he will be distracted. It also means that I can do normal things while he is off… thinking”. 

“Does this happen a lot? This sort of terror plot, people dying, underhand plots and all of that?”  
“It has become part of my life since I’ve met Sherlock. It certainly keeps life interesting. Since I was discharged from the army, it keeps me grounded. I seem to do better with it than without. “

John was totally focussed on the road, not daring to look at Rachel. This was the point in the relationship that Sherlock liked to call his litmus test. The time when most of the women in his life decided that this was not the way they wanted to spend their time with him. 

“You are an extraordinary man John Watson. I don’t know how I would cope with this day in and day out. “

“Well, to be fair, we don’t always deal with murder and terror. Our cases are often a bit more mundane; a bit of fraud here, theft there.”

Rachel glanced at Sherlock in the backseat. He was cackling to himself and his fingers flew across the keyboard at breakneck speed. She had hoped that he would share his discoveries with her regarding the disc, but it looked like she would have to be content to always be a step or two behind Sherlock. 

“Rachel, don’t let the fact that Sherlock is ahead of you make you feel bad. He doesn’t always realise that we don’t see the world as he does, and he eventually does spill everything. I’ve learnt to just allow him to finish the thought process.” 

Rachel was silent, wondering what it would be like to spend so much time with Sherlock and wondering how John didn’t have a cripplingly low self-esteem. About an hour after George’s suicide Mycroft called Sherlock again. He had deactivated the Bluetooth function so John and Rachel could only hear his side of the conversation. It didn’t make a lot of sense from the snatches that Rachel heard. At the end of the call Sherlock tapped John at the shoulder and asked him to go to an address near Whitehall. It seems that Mycroft had someone he wanted Sherlock to talk to.  
Death by Misadventure  
13/14

It was dark by the time they got to Whitehall. Mycroft had arranged parking space for them somewhere in the bowels of the British Government and Anthea was waiting for them by the elevator. The elevator was rickety and the signs indicating what floor they were going to weren’t working. Anthea swiped a pass card over an RFID reader, and the elevator descended. 

John was pleased to see that this time she remembered him at least, but the ride to where ever they were going was tense and fraught with silence. 

Sherlock was fairly vibrating with excitement, humming to himself in anticipation of the scene to come. John surreptitiously held out his hand to Rachel and gave her the comfort it seemed she desperately needed at this time. The anger that seemed to fuel her earlier in the day had been spent. Now she was back to grieving for her brother and trying to stay afloat in a situation that she would never have anticipated. 

Without any warning the elevator stopped, and the quartet bundled out of the small chamber. The hallway they entered looked old, but was clean and had the smell of old files. An ancient compactus was to the right of the elevator. 

Filing floor, John thought. 

Anthea led them to an unassuming door that had CLEANER stencilled on it, another quick tap with her pass card and the door opened. It was deathly quiet, with only their steps making any noise. The new hallway was significantly more modern, and Rachel wrinkled her nose at the smell of damp concrete. Another few minutes of walking and finally, Anthea stopped and opened a door that was indistinguishable from all the other doors around it. Mycroft was waiting inside, nonchalantly leaning on his umbrella and glaring at a small slip of a girl, barely out of her teens, tied to a chair. 

“Ah, Sherlock and his motley crew. So glad you could join us at last. May I introduce Ms Phenomena Huntley. Or as she likes to refer to herself, Fen.”

The girl in the chair quivered with rage, but refused to make a sound. 

“Fen seems to think that if she talks to us, she will betray the cause. The cause being of course, our newly famous revolutionary group. I am sure I will get all the answers I want in due course, but in the mean time, I am curious as to what Sherlock thinks is important…”

Taking this as his cue, Sherlock strode over to look Fen in the eye. John and Rachel faded into insignificance to him, so absorbed was he in this puzzle. The make-up, the clothes, the hairstyle; all chosen to make the person in front of him look younger than what they really are. A determined glint in her eye. 

“Tell me, Mycroft, what does a secretary from Blackpool, a member of Lords and an ex-member of Cirque du Soleil have in common?” Sherlock asked, seemingly ignoring Fen. 

“I wouldn’t have the foggiest. Why don’t you tell me?” 

Sherlock stepped closed to Fen, peering intently at her face. Finding what he was looking for, he stepped away and handed the manila folder to Mycroft. 

“They are all minions of this woman here. Phenomena Huntley is nothing but a piece of fiction. You, my dear brother, have the leader and motivator of the British United Monetary Society in this charming room. Her real name is Charity Smith, her parents used to work for the local NatWest branch before it got shut down and she decided to take charge of the entire financial system of Britain. Got a few key people believing in her cause, and the rest, as they say, is history. 

The main question is why make the Governor commit suicide. What did you have as leverage against him Charity? “

Charity looked at Sherlock with pure venom, but didn’t make a sound. 

“All right then, that is a bit of tricky question isn’t it? Let’s start with something else. Why did Paul Templeton have to die?”

*** 

Rachel felt cold; watching Sherlock pick apart the woman who he believed was responsible for Paul’s death. She wanted to hurt this creature in front of her, wanted to make her pay for all that she had taken away from Rachel. John reached down and held her hand again, reminded her that this was not the way. Sherlock needed more information; they needed to know what was coming towards them. Rachel would get her revenge. 

*** 

Sherlock looked at Charity. There had been a flicker there when mentioned Paul’s name. Not the one he expected. Oh. Oh. 

“It must’ve been a shock to realize that Paul was gay. He would’ve made a great poster boy for your cause. Did you find out before he made the disc?”

A slight twitch of her brow.

“No, only afterwards. That must’ve hurt, thinking that the man who you thought was your partner, the one who would support the new dear leader was actually playing for the other team. I would’ve thought that Liz would mention it to you, seeing as she only got Paul in after she ensnared Trevor. But oh, the irony, having them die side by side. You know they found them hand in hand?”

Another twitch. This was the right mode of attack. 

“So to recap, you took a fancy to Paul, made an advance, he seemed to accept it? Maybe he was bi? Did you sleep with him? He made a copy of your great plans to reform the English banking system. You found out he was going to leak the documents to someone, not important right now, you took it as a personal betrayal. Then you found out about him and Trevor. Jealousy? Hurt upon hurt. He had to die, both of them. Most irrational of you. But you knew that Trevor might be used to get the disc back from the Paul. So you spoke to Simeon to make it happen. “

Surprise on her face there. Didn’t think that people know about Simeon.

“You really ought to have better control over your minions, Charity. Simeon has been getting very cosy to Rachel there. And when I mean cosy, I mean trying to bully the disc out of her. “

Charity is still quiet, still sullen. 

“Mycroft, I believe this is what you are looking for. Take good care of it, I suspect it will make for arresting reading.” Sherlock hands Mycroft the disc and a beat later, Mycroft nods. 

Andrea escorts them all out of the room again, but Mycroft stays behind. He has a rather odd smile on his face and Sherlock is not entirely surprised when he hears a whimper from Charity when the door closes.

“Anyone fancy some Chinese?”

Death by Misadventure  
14/14

“So that’s it then?” John asked over some crispy fried duck, adeptly handling the chopsticks. “BUMS laid to rest, all because their glorious leader wanted to make sure that their latest hostage killed himself?”

“That… doesn’t sound right.” Rachel nodded in agreement. 

“The real challenge, I think you’ll both find, is to arrest Charity but to not make her a martyr for the cause. If it is handled in the wrong way, BUMS would be able to garner much more support and when a new leader arises, or heaven forbid Charity is ever released, the Society could come back stronger than ever. No, Mycroft will have to make sure she is discredited most thoroughly.” Sherlock slurped down his miso soup.

“But what about the bombs? What about the greater plot? What about the Governor and Paul’s death? What about…”

Sherlock held up his hand to stop Rachel mid-rant. 

“I can assure you Rachel, that the rest will be untangled in the next few weeks. In fact, something tells me that we might hear from these people again. Especially Simeon, he isn’t someone who is going to take this lying down. Mycroft will also be quite busy getting a new Governor in place for the Bank of England.”

He leaned down to check his phone. 

“Speak of the devil and he will come. Rachel, I think you will want to read this.”

Rachel nervously took Sherlock’s phone and gasped when she saw the message. 

From: MH  
Please tell Ms Templeton that her brother’s sacrifice will not be forgotten.

“What could it mean?” she asked Sherlock.

“I have no idea, but knowing Mycroft it will probably be revealed in a blaze of publicity.” 

***  
Two months later

Rachel was heading to her new position as a lobbyist for some sort of small firm that Mycroft had recommended when the Metro headline caught her eye. Actually, it was hard for it to not be seen, it seemed as if everyone on the tube was reading it today. 

SHOCK TERROR PLOT FOILED BY STUDENT! 

She grabbed a discarded copy left behind by another commuter and scanned the short article. Paul was being hailed as a hero, foiling a plot by a terrorist group to blow up part of London. Nothing was confirmed about the BUMS group but Rachel suspected that Mycroft would probably want as little as possible publicity attached to them. She wanted to text John, to call Sherlock, to thank Mycroft but her hands stalled every time she pulled out her phone. She hadn’t spoken to the merry band at Baker Street for well over 6 weeks. Her affair with John had fizzled out not long after the case had closed and she had been too consumed with grief for Paul to really think about it. 

Work passed in a haze and it was only when she stepped into the brisk air of London at the end of the day that she knew what she had to do. A short taxi ride later and she stood in front of the familiar black door. She could hear Sherlock playing his violin (how did his neighbours stand it?) and with some trepidation she pressed the bell. 

The violin stopped playing for a few seconds and continued again. Clearly, Sherlock was not going to answer the door. Rachel steeled herself to press the button again when a warm voice spoke:

“Hello Rachel.”

John. Her heart stopped and she turned to face him. He looked tired but there was a fire in her eyes that told her that it was not due to sleepless nights. There was a case on, a case that she wasn’t involved in. 

“John. Hi. Did you ah… see the paper?”

“I did, yes. It was nice of Mycroft to clear Paul’s name. How are you doing?”

“I’m better, thank you. Can I come in?”

There was awkwardness between them that hadn’t been there before. They did some sort of shuffle on the first step where she took his bags of shopping and he unlocked the first door and by the time they reached 221B they were both equally tongue-tied. 

Not for the first time Rachel wondered what she was doing here. Closure was not going to be found here. She should be happy, Paul’s death was for a reason and people knew he wasn’t a terrorist. And yet, there was something missing from her life. In the end, she stayed for an awkward cup of tea and made her excuses after only 30 minutes. There was nothing for her at Baker street now, and she could only try to pick up the pieces of what had been before. 

She had barely turned the corner when Mycroft stepped into 221B. The scene that greeted him was of comforting domesticity and without even asking John added another cup of tea to the tray. The three of them were silent for a while, each lost in their own thoughts as they treated the silence between them with care. 

“It was a nice thing you did, Mycroft.” John spoke first. “I saw the updated version of Paul Templeton’s death certificate. Molly showed me last week. “ 

“Well, I don’t plan on making a habit out of it. However, this whole… event is something that some people would like to disappear. Changing Paul’s death certificate was minor thing in the long run. Besides, the new cause of death is much more capable of hiding the truth. Death by misadventure could mean all sorts of things.”

Silence stretched in the room once more. John was about to ask some more questions when Lestrade came bouncing into the apartment and within three minutes he and Sherlock were on their way to a crime scene and Mycroft was off to who-knows-where. 

It was only much later that Sherlock checked his phone. 

From: Rachel  
To both you and John, thank you. 

Sherlock smiled, handed the phone to John to figure out a reply and started stalking towards Donovan. The night was young and there were mysteries to solve.


End file.
